


It's a Long Hard Fight

by queenfreddiemercury



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Gen, HIV/AIDS, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 18:14:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11560662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenfreddiemercury/pseuds/queenfreddiemercury
Summary: Roger remembers some of the homophobia he witnessed being expressed towards Freddie over the years.





	It's a Long Hard Fight

**Author's Note:**

> there's a lot of liberty taken with this clearly. i was trying to accommodate the fact that queen seemed to only hang out if it was for work, which limited the situations that i could include. a lot of this isn't nice but i had it written so i figured i might as well post it.

It happened all the time.

From their earliest days – it had always happened. Now and again.

The strange thing was that when it started, Freddie wouldn’t even have described himself as a gay man, and yet that’s was what these people were harassing him about.

One of the earliest times Roger could remember was _way_ back. Freddie wasn’t out to them and Roger was pretty sure he wasn’t even out to himself yet. He was still struggling with it.

Freddie had struggled with it so much. It was strange to think about now.

They show they’d played at had been tiny. The venue usually functioned as a bar, so they found themselves having a drink with the venue owner after the show. It was on the house and that was all that mattered to them.

_“So, Queen, huh?”_ the owner had watched the show. Roger figured he’d have to be a fool not to be impressed.

_“I know there’s you, but how were the rest of you okay with that name? Makes you stick out like a sore thumb”_

The man had jerked a thumb at Freddie, on the word _“you”_. Freddie’s started.

_“It’s just cause it’s a dramatic name”_ Brian had tried, diplomatically. Roger remembered Freddie gushing about it being _“regal”,_ back when he pitched it to them.

_“Yeah. Right”_ the owner snorted, his voice dripping in sarcasm _“If you’d wanted dramatic you might as well have just gone ahead and called your band Faggot and left it at that”_

_“It’s not like that”_ Roger was surprised that Freddie had spoken up. He’d been quiet the entire time, _god he was so shy._ That shyness that never left him no matter how successful he became or how old he was.

  _“It’s nothing about that. That’s not even…it’s just about shocking people. And it being memorable”_

_“Well”_ the man’s eyebrows were raised. He raised his glass and inclined it towards Freddie, _“there’s no doubt about that. You’re one memorable queen – or whatever you are, and the rest of you aren’t half-bad either. That was one hell of a show”_

They’d left as soon as they could. On-the-house drinks be damned. Freddie was stony faced the entire ride back to the hotel.

 

* * *

 

A few months later they’d been walking up to their hotel. Roger could still remember what Freddie had been wearing. He’d changed out of whatever he’d worn on stage into an outrageous fluffy jacket and boots with a bit of a heel. Roger remembered he’d joked that he was catching up to Brian’s height.

By this time, Roger had a Feeling. But he didn’t know. Cause Freddie hadn’t told them. And they wanted him to tell them, rather than them forcing it out of them.

So they _“didn’t know”._

 Freddie had talked their tour manager into carrying his bag for him. As a result, he was walking a bit ahead – the rest of them having been delayed getting the bags out of the cars.

Roger had noticed that a short distance from the hotel entrance, a few men were smoking. Lugging his bag, he didn’t give them a second thought until suddenly a wolf-whistle rang out through the air.

_“Well helloooo your majesty”_

Whoever it was, was speaking loudly enough that they could all hear it. Roger’s head had snapped up instinctively as soon as the whistle rang out. He saw that Freddie had walked, by now, to where the men were standing. Even from this distance, Roger could see the tension in Freddie’s shoulders – how uncomfortable he looked.

_“Oh what, is the puff too good to even say hello to us?”_ Freddie had clearly attempted to walk on without stopping.

Roger didn’t think Freddie said anything – if he did it was too quiet to hear. But suddenly the man was stepping forwards towards Freddie, and _jesus, Freddie looked so small, this guy could knock him out with one punch._

_“Hey!”_ the shout was from their tour manager. He dropped the bags he was carrying to the ground, and strode quickly to the scene of the drama.

_“We don’t want any trouble.”_ His hands were raised up, palms flat – a call for cease.

_“Yeah, well I don’t want faggots running around the place, so I guess we’re both out of luck”_

_“Come on”_ their manager took Freddie’s arm, his body a shield between Freddie and the man. He started to walk Freddie to the door.

_“Fuck the filthy lot of you”_ the man spat at Freddie’s feet.

They kept walking.

John went back and got the bags that had been dropped. Freddie started smoking while they were waiting for their rooms to be ready – Roger could see that his hands were shaking slightly.

That night Freddie ended up paying for a single room, out of his own pocket, so that he wouldn’t have to share with any of the rest of them. He didn’t want to have to look anyone in the eye.

 

* * *

 

The next one to spring to mind was Later. A good bit later.

Freddie was out and loving it. Well, out to friends that is. But that was all that mattered to Freddie. He was going out to clubs most nights and having the time of his life. If Roger was being honest, he thought Freddie was going a bit overboard with it all. But it wasn’t quite off the rails yet. More like he was perched on the edge.

They were travelling on their tour bus. By this stage, everything had exploded. Fans were on the streets, chasing the tour bus when they could. Others would simply wave to it.

As they got near the venue that they were due to play at, Roger noticed a small crowd of people milling around. With pickets.

_“God hates the gays”, “Homosexuality is sin”._ Ten variations of the same rhetoric.

_“Oh look, they must be here for me”_

Freddie was peering out the window, an incredulous smile on his face.

_“Don’t mind them”_ someone had said, _“they just want attention and they’ve figured out this is a way to get it”_

_“It is indeed”_ the bus had pulled up outside the venue by now. To Roger’s utter surprise, Freddie made a move for the tour.

_“Helloo”_ he cooed out the door, his head and torso poking out the door, while one arm and leg kept him in the bus.

_“Mighty fine day for sucking cock, isn’t it?”_

_“Freddie!”_ someone yanked him back in the door. Freddie was laughing so hard he was almost doubled over.

At least this reaction was preferable to the alternative.

 

* * *

 

The next time was different.

They were on their way to some industry party – the like of which they all hated. The only reason they were all attending (and travelling together) was that they were going directly from the venue where they’d played the show. The plan was to make as brief an appearance as possible.

It was ridiculous that anything even happened. It was late at night. They were only going to be out of the car for about thirty seconds – the thirty seconds it took them walk up the street and get to the hotel that was hosting the party.

Those thirty seconds would also involve passing photographers. Or paparazzi rather.

Roger was at the back of the pack. His view was limited by the camera flashes, but he could still see it happen.

_“Freddie where’s your boyfriend?”_ one was calling to Freddie. He was close enough that Freddie could see him, and he clearly _did_. His head turned, instinctively perhaps, towards the sound before he very deliberately turned back.

_“What’s his name – do you think you’ll finally be able to keep a man this time?”_

They all kept walking.

Inside, Roger only saw Freddie for a few moments before he disappeared. He was flustered, it almost seemed _ridiculous_ considering how much of a non-issue it was now for Freddie in his day-to-day life _._ But they all understood. This was public and this was in front of cameras and this was his personal life, _for heaven’s sake,_ when would people leave him alone.

 

* * *

 

 

It was 1987. It didn’t matter where they were, it happened all the time now, to all of them – even when they were by themselves.

_“Has Freddie got AIDS?”_

_“How do you feel about the fact that Freddie has been diagnosed with HIV?”_

_“How long until-”_

It was horrendous.

Roger remembered one time. He wasn’t sure where they were going – all he remembered was the chaos. Photographers and reporters had been everywhere shouting the same old questions over and over again. It was so much that it was hard for them to move physically forward.

Freddie had turned to Phoebe. He’d had to practically shout over the din.

_“Get me fucking out of here”_

Roger wasn’t sure what happened, but the wheels had certainly been put in motion. Very suddenly they were being whisked off the street – it was into some random hotel, not even wherever they were going. In the panic they’d all just been ushered forward, forward, _forward_ until suddenly the four of them, Phoebe and some others were in an elevator, with the remainder of the group left down in the reception.

Freddie was hyperventilating.

_“Freddie breathe”_ Phoebe was trying. He was the one who saw the most of Freddie’s anxiety attacks. He was the one who got Freddie out of them.

_“I can’t. Can’t fucking-”_

_“I’m so sorry – we should have planned that better”_

_“Can’t breathe”_ Freddie finished, as if any of them needed him to say it. Freddie crouched down on his hunkers, bending over trying to catch his breath.

_“Here, we’ll give you space”_ Phoebe made a motion with his hands. Everyone else duly pressed back against the walls. It was only then that Roger realised the elevator wasn’t even moving – they were all just being held there. For safekeeping. Or something.

There they were. The four members of Queen held in an elevator, watching their frontman having a panic attack on the floor.

The worst part was that there was nothing any of them could do but give him time to calm down. When Freddie lifted his head a bit, Roger saw that tears were running down it.

_“I need”_ he tried, leaning back as he spoke, so that he could look at Phoebe, _“a room. I need to get myself together.”_

_“I’ll go get one right now”_ Phoebe was on it in a second, hitting some button that he must have hit when they’d gotten in, and letting himself out.

Freddie’s eyes were closed as he fought still to get his breathing under control. He was getting there. Slowly. He looked up at the rest of them, a look of pain and embarrassment crossing his face.

_“I’m so sorry”_ he said hurriedly – his breathlessness quickening his speech, _“about all of this. I hate when I get like this, I’m sorry, I know-”_

He broke off and closed his eyes again. They were all just listening to his heavy breathing.

_“It’s fine Freddie, it’s absolutely fine”_ it was John who spoke. Roger wasn’t sure how he managed it. He himself had a lump in his throat. It felt like if he said anything he’d burst into tears himself.

_“It doesn’t matter, we understand. They’re all rotten – every single one of them out there. Fuck them all”_

_“Yeah”_ Freddie breathed. He pursed his lips together – it looked like he was having to hold back more tears.

It was still a while before he told them.  

 

* * *

 

After that there was never any fuss. Freddie would walk on and pay no attention to anything anybody called out to him.

Of course, he didn’t go out as much either. That made things easier.

Roger hated it. He hated every single person who’d ever harassed Freddie, he hated the press who were doing their best to hound him, he hated every single reporter and newspaper in Britain.

 

They were there until the end. Camped outside his house. Waiting. Waiting for their big scoop.

And Freddie continued to ignore them. Right until the end.

**Author's Note:**

> the format of this was intended to be one of the "5 times X happened and one time it didn't" type fics, but then it seemed difficult to phrase that for the title. that's why the moments are briefly described and written from the overhead view.


End file.
